


I'll be your ace

by FrossHjort



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Volleyball AU, ace!Will, setter!Hannibal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29612118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrossHjort/pseuds/FrossHjort
Summary: Hannibal had never met a volleyball player quite like Will. He has great potential, with time and training he could become the perfect ace for him. He just needs to make him see it too.A volleyball AU where professional setter!Hannibal, after playing a game against professional middleblocker!Will, decides he'd rather play with him than against him so he makes sure to transform him into his ideal spiker.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I admit I don't know much about volleyball, especially about all the rules and technical terms, but as I was watching Haikyuu I had this idea and I had to, at least, try to write it. So I apologize in advance for any unrealistic plays, but I hope the final result will be enjoyable nonetheless.

Hannibal is warming up away from the rest of his teammates right next to the edge of the court where his next match against the USA volleyball team is about to take place. 

He had been called to play in the nationals for his home country, Lithuania, for the first time since he started playing volleyball professionally in his youth, but contrary to popular belief he didn't see it as an honor, more like a burden he would have gladly gone without. The upsetting memories of his past life in Lithuania were still too painful for him to revisit any time soon. 

He can’t even stand the so-called players he is supposed to play with. Hannibal has seen them play and found their lack of skill appalling. Just the idea of being likened to players of this kind of calibre is insulting. However, not having the luxury to refuse the offer he thought it best to merely enjoy the opportunity to mess with his new teammates as he deprives them of the satisfaction of victory by either pretending to be less skilled than he actually is or indirectly sabotaging them. 

Out of the corner of his eye he notices a few of the American players showing up on the court as they finally start to warm up as well. The coach had shown them a couple of videos of the Americans' plays that had been taken from their most recent matches, but he had paid them no heed so he doesn't recognize any of their faces, but it doesn’t matter. 

He does not mean to win this match anyway. 

Soon enough the match starts. Hannibal sets the ball as poorly as he can, which is weirdly challenging since his fingers automatically start to move in the correct manner and he has to actively stop them from doing so. 

The rival team is not great, they get the job done sure, as it is expected at this level, but it’s clear to him that their captain - Crawford - is not really good at exploiting his teammates’ potential. Just by looking at their middle blocker - a certain Will Graham - he can feel the untapped potential emanating from him. He seems to know what he is doing, perfectly predicting every attack one after the other, but he can see in his eyes the fervent desire to do more. 

Looking at the surging fire that burns in his eyes, he wonders how much power he would put in his spikes if only one of his fellow players would set the ball for him.. oh well, if they won’t do it then he will.

***

Will had had enough of Jack and his frustrating plays where his only role was to block the other teams’ attacks. It’s been so long since he has spiked a ball, he has almost forgotten what it feels like. To jump up so high it nearly feels like flying. To see everything from a much clearer perspective. To have your opponents looking up at you with that slight hint of fear combined with anticipation in their eyes. 

He misses it. 

He is good at read-blocking, he knows that and he should trust his captain’s choice if he thinks it’s what’s best for the team, but he can’t help but feel this longing that has been devouring him from the inside since the nationals started.

The second set of the match has almost come to an end now. They have easily won the first, and it looks like they’ll be winning this second one too. Yet somehow he feels like the opposing setter - what was his name? Lecter? - is holding back. 

It doesn’t make sense so he’s probably just imaging it, but he still can’t quite shake off the feeling that he is letting them win.

***

It’s Hannibal’s turn to serve. 

The Americans seem to relax. He can’t fault them for it, after the performance he put up, it’s to be expected that they would underestimate him. He will have to surprise them. To do what he has in mind he will have to show them his real self. 

He closes his eyes as he spins the ball on the palm of his left hand, taking his time to concentrate. Once the ball stops its rotating movement his eyes snap open, already focused on his target. 

He gracefully tosses the ball up in the air, time seems to slow down as he runs up to the line separating him from the rest of his team. His jump is just as graceful, every movement, every muscle perfectly coordinated with the other. 

The moment his hand connects with the descending ball, time goes back to full speed and the ball shoots at a surprising speed towards the spot in between the American ace and setter. Exactly where he wanted it to go. 

Both the ace and setter go for the ball, crashing into each other. In the end, even if one of the two managed to save it, they are both out of commision so it’s now up to the left spiker to set the ball for their attack. 

Not having the clarity and quickness of mind of an experienced setter he passes the ball to the person closest to him: Will. 

Hannibal’s lips curl into a small smile as he watches the events unfold just as he had envisioned. 

At long last he’ll be able to see what this Will Graham is capable of and satiate his pending curiosity.

***

Finally! 

He finally got the chance to actually do something rather than just stand there in front of the net, observing the adversaries' every move just so he can jump at the right time to stop the ball from getting into his court. 

The surprise combined with his newfound excitement almost makes him lose focus and miss the ball, but he carries out the spike flawlessly anyway. The warm pain radiating from his palm as it connects with the ball, transferring all his might from one to the other, is intoxicating. And yet, the view from above the net is what takes his breath away. 

He can see everything. 

He can see all the forefront players rushing forward to block his attack, he can see the empty space towards which he directs the ball, but most importantly, he can see their setter. The person who made this all happen. 

As the ball lands in the Lithuanian side of the court he locks eyes with Hannibal. He meant for this to happen, he wanted to see him spike, Will can see it plainly in his calculating gaze. 

Although the reason behind it escapes him, he is not going to miss out on the opportunity to thank him so he sends a small smile in his direction. The somewhat playful grin he gets in return tells him this isn't over. 

Everyone might argue that the game has been going on for a while, but both Will and Hannibal know it's just getting started.

***

A bit rough around the edges, yet powerful and precise. Hannibal couldn't have asked for anything better. He can almost taste his potential carried over by the ball. 

Things have just gotten interesting.

He wishes to have Will all to himself now that he has found someone worthy of his attention, but testing his reaction to a variety of attacks will have to suffice, at least for the moment. 

He sets aside his distaste for his teammates as he casually uses them, like the mere pawns they are, for his own personal schemes. The game suddenly turning from one of volleyball to one of chess. 

Usually he'd just adopt a few carefully chosen words to suggest, sow the seed of an idea in their minds and then let them think it got there on its own. But not this time. 

With these temporary companions he only needed to toss the ball a certain way and they would react the precise way he had predicted they would.

He tries out a variety of different offensive tactics. 

First a quick, which takes Will by surprise, but, thanks to his speedy reflexes, he manages to at least touch the ball with his fingers, giving his team a chance to keep the ball in play. 

After that Hannibal opts for a shoot set, curious to see whether Will would mistake it for another quick or notice the trap he has so neatly set up. 

He can feel Will’s searching gaze upon him as he tosses the ball in the air, trying to read his every move. Even the ones he has not made yet.

Apparently he reads him well for he finds him jumping right in front of the spiker who is about to receive the ball. 

_ Clever boy. _

They keep this up for another two sets. 

By the time they reach the fifth and final one they are both panting heavily. Exhaustion pulsing through their veins. 

Albeit Will looks to be slightly more spent than Hannibal, it’s obvious neither can maintain this rhythm for much longer. 

Fortunately for them the match point does not take long to reach them, taking almost everyone by surprise as it is Hannibal’s team in the lead. 

Feeling merciful, Hannibal decides to go for a quick and painless end by setting this final ball for their ace. 

Will and two other of his teammates, Zeller and Katz, are all ready to block. 

The ace leaps, right arm winding back, muscles tensing, ready to strike. 

Will follows him up, fingers hands and arms completely stretched upwards to create an impenetrable wall. 

But the ball doesn’t come. 

Will turns around just in time to make eye contact with Hannibal as he deftly dumps the ball with his left hand. 

He scored. The game is over. 

***

Will can’t believe he got fooled by that. It was his job to be able to read the opponent’s plays and he failed at it. Jack is definitely going to be mad with him now. Yet he finds himself not caring as he stares at his rival standing on the other side of the net. 

He has not joined his teammates in their victory celebrations, preferring, like Will, to dedicate these last few moments they’ll be sharing on this court together to one another.

Sadly time is not on their side as they both get called over by their coaches after just a couple of minutes. 

Will would like to say something, but he can’t find the right words. 

Luckily for him Hannibal does it for him. “Till next time then, Will Graham. Although for both our sakes I do hope there won’t be a net separating us when that happens.”


	2. Chapter 2

The return to his old team is rather anticlimactic. Not that he had expected anything grand, but at least a small welcome after months of being away would have been nice. 

A few of his teammates had awkwardly clapped him on the shoulder congratulating him on his accomplishments at the nationals, but mostly they just greeted him like any other training day. Like nothing had happened.

For years he has been a part of this team, the “Drunken ducks”. 

_ Christ. _ The name alone makes him want to drink something to forget that that’s the actual name of the team. 

And yet Will had never been too close with any of its members. He figured that after having participated in the nationals they would at the very least start acknowledging his presence outside of games. 

Evidently not.

He sighs defeatedly as he closes his sports bag, ready to head home after a long day of disappointing realisations, but a certain memory that has been plaguing his every thought brings him to a stop. 

_ “Till next time then, Will Graham. Although for both our sakes I do hope there won’t be a net separating us when that happens.” _

He can still feel the excitement that coursed through his tired body after the match, fully revitalizing it, just at the mere thought of what it would be like to play with someone like Hannibal Lecter. 

Imagining what they could do together, instead of against each other… They could be-

_ No.  _

He shakes himself out of his reverie before he gets so lost in it he won’t be able to get out of it on his own. 

\---

His cabin is pretty small and not particularly luxurious, but the euphoric greeting he gets from his dogs is welcoming enough to make up for the lack of hospitality of his lodgings.

After preparing a nice hot meal for both himself and the dogs, he collapses on his bed, hoping sleep won’t evade him this time. 

He has hardly managed to rest recently. His mind, whether awake or asleep, is always troubled by a disarray of contradictory thoughts and inviting possibilities. As much as he would like to silence one and heed the other he finds himself stuck in this perpetual conflicting limbo. 

As the hours pass with no trace of sleep, Will dejectedly gets up from his bed and heads outside, holding a ball in his hands. 

Focusing on the ball’s movements as it goes back and forth between his hands and the cold surface of the wall has always helped him clear out his head whenever he needed to make up his mind on something. 

The freezing air bites at his fingers, making each impact with the ball a tad more painful than usual, but he doesn’t stop. He needs to figure out what he wants to do or he’ll be stranded in an unwanted future. Every day tortured by his own decision or rather its lack thereof. 

_ What do I want? _

Hannibal’s all-consuming presence it’s the first thing to occupy his thoughts and as much as Will would like to discard that image from his head, he pushes on. 

He sees himself standing right next to him, their connection is strong and unsevered by the feeble barrier of polyethylene, unlike before. 

He senses Hannibal setting the ball for him more than he actually sees it, as he jumps high over the net, no doubt about the ball’s trajectory anchors him down to the ground as he trustingly spikes it down. 

The force of the ball’s collision with the ground is so formidable he feels it on his body. 

More precisely on his cheek as the ball he had been playing with in the real world, before immersing himself in his fantasy, hits him square in the face. 

The unexpectedness of it brings him back to the present. He rubs, with the back of his hand, the small amount of pain that warms his cheek away before purposefully heading back inside the house. 

The ball hadn’t been the only thing that hit him in that moment. 

The sudden revelation, that his contract with the Drunken ducks has not yet been officially renewed finally dawning on him, facilitates his choice. 

He wants to see his vision come to fruition and if that means he is going to have to leave everything he knows to go play in another team then so be it. 

***

Hannibal hates the smell of smoke. Especially the cheap one that saturates his coach’s office. Every intake of breath irritates his receptive nose, overpowering his acute sense of smell, but he endures it.

He didn’t come here for a simple chat after all. He has an important task to fulfill.

The coach of the Murderous stags, Hank Wolf, barely lifts his gaze from the paperwork that litters his desk, as Hannibal makes his entry into the small reeking room, but acknowledges his presence all the same. “What is it now?”

Hannibal has never appreciated Hank’s disagreeable manner of talk, but he tolerates it as he deems it a relatively fair price to pay for him to be able to do as he pleases with the team. A commodity not every coach he has worked with had been able to provide.

“I believe Dolarhyde’s utility has come to an end. His spikes are hardly effective anymore as he merely relies upon brute force rather than combining it with both precision and strategy. I suggest a change of players before this next season might be in order or we won’t be capable of adapting our playstyle to a new member in time.”

Hank grunts in response. “And I suppose you already have a fit candidate to propose for the position, am I right?”

“Yes. Will Graham, the middle blocker of the USA team. He has not, as of yet, extended his contract with the team he used to play for prior to the nationals.”

“A middle blocker? I mean, I can see the boy’s got some freaky talent for read-blocking or whatever it is he does, but we already have Mono and Ross for that role.” Hank scratches his beard, lost in thought, as he tries to understand Hannibal’s plan.

“I am aware of that and I have no intention of getting rid of either of them as well.”

The coach sighs in frustration. “Then what do you suggest Hannibal? Just get to the point already, I ain’t got all day.”

Hannibal swallows down the annoyance he can feel rising up at the ill-mannered response of the trainer, urging him to act upon his most violent impulses. As much as he would like to express his displeasure, he decides to overlook the rude behavior for it would not bring him any closer to his goal. “Will Graham has a natural talent for read-blocking that is true. Although, I can see he has great potential in other roles as well, however dormant. If you’ll let me, I’d like to make an attempt at awakening it.”

Hank takes a moment to think it through, then assents, albeit reluctantly, to Hannibal’s proposition before going back to smoking his cigarette and frowning at his desk. “Alright alright, I trust your judgement. I’ll call, see if he is interested.” 

Goal achieved, Hannibal thanks him then eagerly takes his leave. 

Once outside, where his nose can at last breathe in some fresh clean air, he rejoices in the thought that, if everything goes according to plan, he and Will will soon be reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that technically volleyball teams are named after cities, but I couldn't decide on which cities to use, so I just availed myself of a name generator and "drunken ducks" is what came out of it... I just had to pick it for the stupidity alone.


End file.
